


Love Machine

by Xazz



Series: Love Machine [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Android, Angst, Cute, Fluff, M/M, Robot, flangst, robot love, robots AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-11
Updated: 2014-03-11
Packaged: 2018-01-15 09:24:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1299886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xazz/pseuds/Xazz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens when a robot capable of love falls in love with a robot who can't?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love Machine

There was a spark and a soft, barely audible hum from several fans inside his chest all kicking on at the same time. The fiber optics in his eyes burned against the shutters that mimicked eyelids, and bounced back so all he saw was golden light. Then he opened his eyes. Servos in the back of his eye socket whirled gently and his eyes focused, first too far, then too close, a shape hovering in front of him going in and out of focus quickly, and then he found the mid ground. 

“Hello,” the shape, a man with a soft face, high cheeks, and short, brown, hair said. He blinked several times, his eyes making soft clicks each time they closed. He’d never seen this man before but all the processors in his head and torso were in full overdrive to figure out who he was. Automatically he found a wifi connection, the cloud emanating from a rod in a room next to this one. He was stopped cold at a password encryption and pulled himself back.

“Can you talk?” the man asked.

“Yes,” he said.

“Ha! Fantastic,” they grinned at him. “And they told me you were broken,” he snorted.

He cocked his head to the side, “Broken?” he asked and then looked around and down at himself. He was in a room with a table in front of him that was covered in computers, and windows allowed bright sunlight to enter the room. The floor was hard wood and the walls were cheerful. Cardboard boxes of various states of emptiness occupied nearly all of the floor space. Then he looked down at himself. 

His chest was open, the servers and fans and delicate parts all humming gently, sometimes blinking. A red cord was hooked up to where his ‘heart’ was supposed to be, and was attached to a sort of golden sphere shape. He had no body below his torso and was instead being held up by some apparatus.

He looked at the man when he started talking, “Just some missing legs, nothing we can’t fix,” he grinned again. This man smiled a lot.

“Who are you?” he asked.

“Ah, right,” he nodded. “I’m your… friend. My name is Desmond.”

“Oh. Who am I?” he asked.

“My new android,” he said. “Quite lucky too. I got you with a busted network board and a broken language chip. And the legs of course. But here you are,” he didn’t seem able to stop being excited about this. “Malik,” he called. “Malik get in here I need you!”

“Who’s Malik?” he asked as the door opened. He cocked his head to the side and tried to figure it out. At first glance he thought it was another person. But on closer inspection he saw it wasn’t. It was another android, like him, but when he tried to bring up information about them he was once again blocked by the wifi password that stopped him from accessing the network.

“Woah there, stop whatever you’re doing,” Desmond said.

“What’s your wifi password?” he asked.

He paused a second, “Irock,” the android said. “With an exclamation point.”

“Thank you.”

“Hey wait, I don’t know if your network card is up to snuff,” Desmond said even as he input the password and gained access to the internet.

The servos in his eyes whirled and he refocused on the room in a new way. He looked at Desmond first and a whole slew of information popped up around his form as he quickly went to one of the computers and started looking at information. Desmond Miles born 2099 in South Dakota to a William and Anna Miles who owned a horse ranch. Published his first paper on androids in 2115 at the age of sixteen in Robot World. Alumni of the Yale with a Masters in Robotics Engineering, and Ethical Machining. Inventor of the ‘synthetic android heart’ six months ago. Patent is withstanding. Now lives in New York City and runs an android hospital.

Next he focused on Malik and was given a list of numbers. Sony brand Jasper model android. Several years since production was ceased on Jasper androids. Comes with customizable skin, and fully accessorizable. Malik’s fifty-nine digit long serial code flashed across his eyes and he frowned. According to the his database Malik had been decommissioned because of faulty personality a year ago, apparently he showed signs of anger and aggression. Yet here he was.

“I see,” he said.

“Amazing,” Desmond said.

“What?” he asked.

“Your network card works like a dream,” he said. “What do you think Malik?” he asked.

“I think he needs a pair of legs,” Malik said blandly. Malik was odd for a Jasper model android. Usually if you could afford a Jasper android you could afford the skins and upgrades for a supermodel customizations. Malik however was average in height and had an angular face and a large nose and a jaw that was almost too strong. His hair was short and dark and the only part of him that seemed expensive. It wasn’t synthetic hair, it was real, human, hair. He instantly wanted to touch it. A ping from a manners server he’d been accessing told him it was rude to touch others, human or android, without their permission. He’d ask later.

Desmond laughed a little, “We’ll worry about that once I can close up his chest without him losing power and rebooting,” he sighed.

“Rebooting?”

“Yeah, this is the first time you’ve been awake this long. Long enough to access the net. Fantastic,” and Desmond’s smile was brilliant. Several of the fans in Altair’s chest whirled faster, louder. Desmond pushed his wheeled chair over to to him. “How do you feel?” he asked.

“What?”

“Feel, right now. What do you feel?”

He took a moment, “Happy,” he said.

“Really?”

“Yes.”

Desmond whooped, “See that Malik,” he said cheerfully.

“Yes, Desmond,” he said.

“Desmond,” he asked.

“Yes?”

“Do I have a name, like Malik?”

“Well the first time you asked me that I didn’t have one. But, I’ve been thinking about it. And shoot, what was the one I said I wanted to name him Malik? I can’t remember,” he sighed.

“Altair,” Malik said.

“Yes! That was it. Altair.”

Altair checked the internet, “You named me after a star?” he asked.

“Well yeah,” and then Desmond reached over and gently tapped the golden sphere in his chest, “Cause with this you’re my ticket to recognition in the industry.”

“What is it?”

“A synthetic android heart. Or, as I like to call it, a love machine,” and he laughed at his own stupid joke. “It makes androids _feel_.”

“Feel?”

“Yeah. Like… emotions and shit. Unlike Malik here, who can’t. He doesn’t have a synthetic heart. He’s factory standard, some personality, though no _soul_. But you, kid, you got a soul.”

Altair looked down at his chest, “A soul,” he said slowly.

“Yeap. Now, I need to go talk to some people and see if my friend can find you some legs. Malik, monitor him while I’m gone,” Desmond said, jumping out of his seat and leaving the room.

Malik sat in the chair Desmond had been in.

“I read you were decommissioned,” he said to Malik.

Malik gave him a cool look, “I know you had your legs blown off,” he said, not meanly, but it still hurt.

“How?” he asked, he couldn’t remember anything past waking up.

“You’re a Titan class,” he said but said no more. Altair blinked and waited for Malik to elaborate. But he didn’t. He was about to ask when he realized he could just look it up. Titan androids were military models with life-like, human, faces, but below the neck they were all machine. They accompanied soldiers into hostile territory and served as grunts on the battlefield, and most often part of bomb squads or medics.

“How did I end up here?”

“Desmond bought you when you were sold for parts,” and Altair grimaced. Malik didn’t seem to mind the gruesome terms.

“How did you end up here?”

“Black market deal,” Malik said, and all through their conversation he’d just stared at Altair, only blinking at regular, predictable, intervals. Altair noticed when he paid attention that his own blinking was at random intervals, sometimes after a second, or a few milliseconds. Malik blinked once every five point two seconds without fail. Altair knew, after his brief interaction with Desmond, that Malik didn’t blink often enough.

“So you’re illegal?”

“I’ve been registered under a different serial number,” he said.

“… So you’re illegal,” Altair said.

Malik looked at him, “No more than a domestic Titan,” he said and Altair scowled at him. Malik didn’t seen affected.

They said nothing more after that and Altair downloaded gigabytes of data from the internet from every database that had public access. All the while his chest hummed softly, keeping him functioning.

—

Some days later Desmond came into his work shop, the sun was up and Malik was with him, carrying a big box. Desmond, Altair had learned, only tinkered with Altair when he had time. He did run a robotics hospital after all and had at least half a dozen patients who all needed to be fixed and cleaned up and prepped to be returned to their owners. So Altair spent a lot of time alone, which was fine with him, there was a lot to learn and see on the internet. Sometimes Malik came in and sat with him, to monitor him.

“Today’s a special day Altair, know why?” he said.

“Why?” Altair asked, though from sensing Desmond’s excitement, felt himself grow excited. Malik didn’t appear to feel anything.

“Your legs came in,” he said cheerfully. “Ah, thank you Malik,” he said when Malik put the box down next to him. Desmond opened the box and pulled out a shiny metal leg. “They’re second hand, but should serve you _just_ fine,” he assured Altair.

“Oh,” Altair said, brows going up. Desmond let Altair touch the leg and he ran a scan on them. They were from a worker drone, and didn’t look human-like at all, but were more machine-like. They’d do fine though. “Will they take long to install?” he asked.

“Shouldn’t take more than a firmware update,” Desmond said and squatted onto a stool under Altair. He felt some static as Desmond did something on his pelvis, which apparently he’d rebuilt from scratch after it had been shredded by an explosion. Then Altair had the very distinct feeling of suddenly having two new limbs, though they weren’t fully connected to his body yet. Instead just the electronics were connected and he could feel them, but couldn’t move them.

“Feel anything?” Desmond asked him.

“I can feel they’re attached,” Altair said.

“Okay, tell me what this feels like.” The next sensation was odd. It was the feeling of putting a too big plug into a too small of hole. The fans in his chest whirled loudly and then there was a deep pop and Altair was aware of the fact that he now had a _leg_. “How was that?”

“Very… odd,” Altair said.

“Okay, we got another one to do,” Desmond said. Altair blinked a few times and if he’d had to breathe he realized he’d have been panting from what should have been a great exertion. “Can you feel them?”

“Yes,” Altair said.

“Great,” Desmond said and got up and put a disc into one of his computers. He then took a fiber optics and hooked it up to Altair’s chest, which was still open. His fans kicked in louder for a moment before quieting again as Desmond plugged something into a new port. “Access the drive to my computer,” Desmond said, “you should find your firmware update there.”

“Okay,” Altair said and did as he was told. He found the driver for his new legs and ran the program.

“Should have a few hours, and you’ll reboot when its finished.”

“Will I forget?” Altair asked.

“No, not this time,” Desmond grinned and ruffled Altair’s synthetic hair. “I’ll come check on you in a few hours,” he said and when Altair nodded, he left.

Malik remained, “What are you doing here?” he asked Malik.

“I’m supposed to monitor you after Desmond leaves,” Malik said.

“That’s nice of you,” Altair smiled at him. Malik just blinked at him after five point two seconds. “What do you do Malik?” he asked.

“I’m Desmond’s assistant,” he said. “He’s very happy you’re here.”

“Why?”

“He likes to be right. You make him right. You prove he’s right.”

“Why?”

“Your synthetic heart works,” Malik said.

“Do you have one?” Malik shook his head. “Why not?”

“I’m too old. I’m not compatible with a synthetic heart,” he said.

“Oh.”

They lapsed into silence. “What does it feel like?” Malik asked.

“What does what feel like?”

“Feeling.”

Altair frowned a moment, not knowing how to respond in a way a robot would understand. The entire language they spoke was to explain how humans functioned to other humans. But to explain feelings to something that couldn’t feel and that didn’t respond or operate like a human did was impossible. “I don’t know how to describe it,” he told Malik.

“Hmm,” Malik said.

“Do you wish you could feel?”

“I don’t wish for anything,” Malik said.

“Well I do. I wish I could walk.”

“Well you will soon,” Malik said.

“Yes. In just a few hours,” Altair agreed. “Do you want anything, Malik?” Malik shook his head, “Do you like our owner?”

“He’s a fair master,” Malik said. “My last was not kind. Its why I-

“You?” Altair prompted him.

“I was decommissioned for my ‘attitude’,” and it was the first time Altair had heard Malik sound anything but calm. “I’m a Jasper model,” he wrinkled his nose, “very nearly a sex bot. My last master was angry I didn’t ‘function’ as he expected I would. He hit me with one of his golf clubs.”

“What’d you do?” Altair asked.

“I told him that if he struck me again I’d break both his arms,” Malik said.

“That seems like an emotion to me,” Altair said.

“It was a logical conclusion,” Malik said, “If his arms were broken, he wouldn’t be able to hit me any more. As it was he struck me enough that now the motors in my left arm are damaged. Desmond insists they’re fine but…”

“They aren’t fine,” Altair said.

“He even gave me a new arm and I’ve reinstalled the drivers at least a dozen times but. My arm still sometimes malfunctions,” he frowned deeply.

“I’m sorry Malik.”

“Why?” Malik asked. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“Its part of the feelings thing.”

“Oh,” Malik said, “Desmond says he’s sorry about things sometimes too. I don’t understand why,” he shrugged a little.

“You can’t understand.”

“No,” Malik said, “I guess not.”

—

Altair didn’t get to walk until the next day. Malik and Desmond were in Desmond’s workshop with him and he was still hooked up to the apparatus holding him up. Desmond was running some tests, several cords hooked up to his chest. Then, finally, Desmond took them all out.

“Well, the moment of truth,” Desmond said, and slowly took the red cord attached to his synthetic heart off. The globe pulsed gently along its seams, much like a real heart would. But nothing else happened. “Perfect!” Desmond cried. “All right lets put your chest plate on, how’s that sound?”

“Okay,” Altair said.

Desmond produced a translucent, plastic, chest plate. “Your heart will emit light at times,” Desmond said, “well yours will. The ones that will eventually go into production won’t. Its to help me monitor its state. So don’t worry if it glows and shit.”

“Okay,” Altair said.

“Malik hold the chest piece in place while I get a drill,” Desmond said.

“Yes, Desmond,” Malik said and held the chest plate where it was supposed to go. The pulsing glow stopped and glowed steady. He had no idea what that meant but Desmond told him not to worry about it. Desmond returned with the drill and in moments had Altair all bolted together.

“So, ready to stand?” he asked Altair.

“Yes,” Altair nodded enthusiastically.

“All right, lets just unscrew this,” and Desmond went around to his back and the drill whirled. “Malik, hold him up for me. The motors and servos won’t be up for a dead lift straight off,” Desmond said. Malik stepped up and wrapped his arms around Altair’s waist. Altair’s chest glowed a bit brighter.

He felt himself come free from the metal apparatus and Malik stepped back, suddenly off set by his sudden weight. Desmond was there in an instant. “All right now lets test if he can hold his own weight. Set him down _gently_ Malik,” Desmond said.

Malik slowly lowered Altair until the tips of his feet brushed the ground and he moved them in anticipation. Than his feet were on the ground but he wasn’t supporting his own weight yet, Malik was still doing that. Desmond was watching carefully. Then Malik eased his arms out from around his waist.

Altair swayed a little, his servers and boards doing the rapid calculations it took to balance non two legs. His fans whirled and his entire chest poured golden light. Desmond clapped. “Fantastic. Just… fantastic. How do you feel Altair?” he asked.

“Fantastic,” he said and smiled. Desmond laughed.

“Great. Now, lets find you a pair of pants. I’ve been told by some of my previous subjects I’ve tested the hearts on that inhuman limbs make them self conscious. That and you’re less likely to damage them.”

“Okay,” and Altair followed after Desmond. The motors and servos of his new legs whirled and he walked out of the workroom and into the rest of the house. He followed Desmond into another room, cataloging everything as he went, and Desmond found him a pair of pants. He sat down to put them on, not quite trusting himself to put them on standing up. Not yet. He’d need a few days before he could fully function with these legs.

“Now then,” Desmond said, “You start tomorrow.”

“Start?” Altair asked.

“All _my_ bots work with me at the shop,” he said. “Malik and Rauf- which oh man you’re going to _love_ \- help me with the damaged robots. But you,” Desmond got a sly look on his face. “You’re going to be my secretary.”

Altair quickly looked up what that meant and why he’d have to do it. It didn’t take him long to figure it out. Many androids were beloved parts of families, and when they broke it was as trying a time as if a human became ill. Someone with empathy was needed to deal with the owners. Malik wasn’t compatible, he felt no empathy, and he had to assume neither did Rauf. So that meant Altair was the only one. “Oh. Okay,” he said. “Who’s Rauf?”

“You’ll see tomorrow,” Desmond said.

—

Desmond’s hospital was a basement level shop of a building that housed a clothing boutique and a coffee shop. It had two rooms, a front reception area where Altair spent the majority of his time, and the back, where Desmond worked on repairing the damaged robots.

He’d since met Desmond’s other android; Rauf. Rauf was a kid bot, designed to look like a child for people who wanted to ‘test out’ what having a kid was like before having their own. Or for people who wanted children but didn’t want ‘children’. Desmond had told Altair that Rauf had been rescued from a home where he’d been used to create simulated child pornography. Since then Rauf had had his memory wiped and working with Desmond was all he remembered. Desmond made sure Altair wouldn’t tell, and of course he wouldn’t. Apparently Malik couldn’t be told, since Malik couldn’t lie. Altair could though, part of his synthetic heart. So he could be trusted with the whole truths including how Desmond had saved Malik from being turned into scrap after when he’d threatened his last owner with bodily harm apparently his master had woken up alone with Malik hovering over him several times. Malik had claimed to know nothing of that happening. Like Rauf Malik had had part of his memory wiped and Desmond had refurbished him. He had no idea why sometimes Malik’s left arm still locked up though.

Altair spent most of his time listening to customers and talking with them over the phone. He felt bad for some, who couldn’t afford to pay the full fee to have their android fixed, but for others he felt contempt, like the man who’s android had apparently had an accident. Their synthetic skin had been torn by teeth though and Desmond said that the man used his android to train attack dogs. Altair was as gentle  with the real sympathetic cases as he could be, and as harsh and mean about the abusive ones as he wanted to be. Desmond was one of the best robot doctors in New York City, so he could afford to be a jerk to them at times. The rich would pay out for their precious toys to be fixed by the best.

Times he wasn’t dealing with customers, or rearranging Desmond’s schedule so he still found time to not only eat but finally go on a date with the cute, blonde, intern, he’d been flirting with, he talked with Malik, and to a lesser extent Rauf. Rauf had a poor attention span, like most children, and didn’t understand Altair at all. He was also convinced Altair was a human. Even with his memory wiped Rauf didn’t like most adult men other than Desmond, so he kept his distance. So that just left Altair with Malik, since most of Desmond’s employees just ignored him.

Malik was an… okay conversationist. He answered things bluntly and had a surprising sense of humor that caught Altair off guard several times. Malik clearly didn’t understand his own jokes though since he always looked confused when Altair laughed at them. He’d just look more confused when Altair tried to explain them.

Every night he went home with Desmond and sat in his work room and Desmond took off his chest plate and hooked the red wire up to his synthetic heart. He’d stay like that overnight and go into sleep mode. Then in the morning Desmond would remove it, write at least five pages of notes, and then get ready for work.

Malik was sort of like Desmond’s butler, and did a lot of house keeping for Desmond so he could focus on his work. One of those things included cooking. “Malik,” Altair said while they were waiting for Desmond to get ready that morning. Malik was making Desmond breakfast.

“Yes, Altair?” he asked.

“How do you cook food? Don’t you need to taste food in order to know if its good or not?” he asked.

Malik turned to him, and stuck out his tongue, he pointed to a large, black, sensor, in the middle of his tongue. “That allows me to perceive taste,” Malik said. “Desmond invented and patented it.”

“Like the synthetic heart?” Malik nodded. “Why hasn’t he given me one?”

“You don’t need one. You don’t cook,” Malik said. “Desmond only gives his androids things they need to make them more useful. I don’t have a wifi network chip, I don’t need one. He uploaded all the information I needed when I was first activated. When I need to learn something new, or information I know changes, he uploads it while I’m in my sleep cycle through a hard connection here,” he reached up and touched the back of his neck.

“So you can’t connect to the internet?” Altair couldn’t even imagine that. He was constantly and continuously hooked into the net. He surfed the web on one of his backup servers constantly. Checking the news, monitoring the weather, reading science, robotic, and engineering journals and papers. He stored most of his memory on the cloud, so his CPU processing and local  was available for other tasks.

“Through an ethernet cable,” Malik shrugged.

“Can you intraconnect?” Altair asked.

Malik looked at him, “Not over blue tooth, or wifi,” he said, “but yes, I can.”

“Hello boys,” Desmond said when he came into the kitchen. “Malik that smells wonderful. What were you talking about?” Altair shrugged, and Malik took it as a cue that it wasn’t important. “All right, I get it. Secret robot stuff,” he chuckled. “Lets feed the hungry doctor and get to work, yeah?”

“Yes, Desmond,” they both said.

—

Altair thought about it a lot. Interfacing with Malik. It was similar to interfacing, which was to connect through external means like the internet or a computer terminal. Intrafacing was much more… intimate and was the direct connection between two androids via a wire from one to the other without wifi or another machine between them. A human might clumsily describe it as robot on robot sex, but it wasn’t like that at all. It was different than that, more complex than some physical act.

Altair didn’t even know if he had an intrafacing plug though. Older model androids did so they could interface with older machines, or even new androids. But newer androids didn’t because they did most of their interfacing through wifi or blue tooth.

One night when Desmond was unscrewing his chest plate Altair asked, “Do I have an intrafacing port, Desmond?”

“Intrafacing?” Desmond asked. “Yeah, back here,” and he stuck his fingers into Altair’s chest, near his synthetic heart. “Right there. Why?”

“I just wanted to know. Why there?”

“Because you new androids are so jam packed and well managed as it is its hard to put old hardware in you _anywhere_.”

“Oh,” Altair frowned. “Is that why you didn’t give me a taste sensor?”

Desmond snorted, “You have no need for one.”

“Oh.”

“Why? Do you want one?”

“I think it odd that I could appreciate the flavors in a way Malik can’t beyond chemical makeup; and yet I don’t have one,” Altair said.

“Huh. Never thought of it like that. All right, I’ll make you one, happy?”

Altair smiled, “Yes,” he said.

“Good. Now time to go to sleep.”

“Yes, Desmond,” and he activated his sleep mode.

—

It was a slow day at the hospital. Altair had taken all his calls, reorganized Desmond’s work computer, and rechecked his schedule half a dozen times as well as called in reservations for him and Lucy (the cute blonde intern) at a nice restaurant. He had nothing else to do. Eventually he got up from his reception desk and went into the back rooms. He passed Desmond and Lucy sitting in Desmond’s office talking, and one of Desmond’s techs Rebecca who was elbow deep in an android’s chest in an ‘operating room’. Then, in one of the rooms, he found Malik, hooked up to a computer.

He tapped the android on the shoulder, and he looked over his shoulder. “What are you doing?” Altair asked.

“Using the internet,” Malik said.

“I thought you said you didn’t use the internet,” Altair said.

“You seemed to like it, so I decided to try it. Its… frustrating. There are so many wrong, ignorant, and uninformed people on the internet,” Malik said.

Altair’s chest glowed a bit, “Have you been getting into internet arguments Malik?”

“ _Discussions_ ,” Malik said. “I needed to educate them.”

Altair laughed, “Show me?”

“Hm?”

“Show me,” Altair sat next to him. “Intraface with me.”

“Can you?” Malik asked.

“Yes, I just need to get this off,” he rapped his knuckles on his chest plate.

“Ah. Okay. I’ll go find a drill,” he said and got up. Altair took off his shirt as Malik went to find a drill and came back with one. The light coming from Altair’s chest seemed to stammer as Malik put one hand on his chest and unscrewed the screws along one side of the plate, putting the screws aside carefully. Then he unscrewed the other side and popped the chest plate, putting it aside. All the fans in Altair’s chest were cranked up to high speed, so they buzzed almost loudly in the space between them.

“Where’s your intraface port?” Malik asked him as he calmly reached back to plug one end into the back of his own neck.

“Desmond said it was here,” Altair said and pointed at where Desmond had. “By my heart.”

“Hmmm,” Malik said and leaned down. “I see it,” he agreed and Altair’s heart glowed brightly, his fans suddenly straining, as Malik put his hand into Altair’s chest. Altair felt the jolt of the intrafacing connection made and then Malik withdrew, going to sit in his chair, seemingly undisturbed by Altair’s reaction. The glowing dimmed and his fans reduced to a manageable speed. He was going to break one one of these days. He would have to ask Desmond why his fans kicked in sometimes when Malik was near by.

But then that was out of his mind and he was instrafacing with Malik. Humans liked to describe it as sex, because they could understand that. But it wasn’t. It was more like two systems sharing information. Altair could see all of Malik’s code as much as Malik could see his. Only unlike Altair Malik had no desire to look at anything of Altair’s. But Altair was curious and while one part of him did engage with Malik on the internet, watching him argue with trolls, another part was gently combing through Malik’s code like fingers. Altair was reminded he wanted to touch Malik’s hair.

“Did you say something?” Malik asked him.

“Hmm? No,” Altair said and realized of course Malik could hear his thoughts. They were connected right now, sharing current experiences, if not past memories. Altair was keeping away from Malik’s local memory, which was much larger than his own, which made sense. Altair saved his memory in the cloud, Malik’s was all hard drive. He focused more of his CPU onto Mali to give him about as full of his attention as an android that could do dozens of tasks at one time could.

Malik really was feeding the trolls though. Like most machines he couldn’t stand when people were wrong, so went about correcting them. Of course people didn’t like being told they were wrong and so argued back. It was a pointless argument, but Malik couldn’t see it. All he saw was their horrible, flawed, argument, and kept responding to them, even if he shouldn’t have. Altair made a noise like a laugh as he watched Malik do this.

“What are you laughing at?” Malik asked him.

“Them,” he lied, “Humans are very strange creatures.”

“Hmm,” Malik agreed shortly, his attention shifted away from Altair. Altair leaned over and, after realizing that of course Malik wouldn’t mind, rested his head on Malik’s shoulder. The pulse of his synthetic heart sped up a bit and his fans spun faster.

—

That night Desmond was looking at the readouts on his computer. He was watching them scroll by, but they meant nothing to Altair, he didn’t know how to read his own heart readouts, and had a puzzled look on his face. “Something wrong, Desmond?” Altair asked.

“I don’t know,” he said and turned to Altair, scooting closer to him on his wheeled chair. “Your fans were seriously over clocking today. Are you hot?” and he peered into Altair’s open chest. “If you’re overheating you need to tell me,” he said.

“I’m not overheating,” Altair said, confused. “I feel fine. Is something wrong?” he asked again.

“Your cooling system had a freak out today is what,” Desmond said and Altair felt him tug on some of the tubes in his chest that ran coolant throughout his body like blood in human veins. “What did you do today?”

“I handled the phone calls, made appointments, set up that reservation for you, which how was it?” he asked.

Desmond flushed a little, “Fine, just fine,” Desmond squeaked a little and cleared his throat. “We had a nice dinner. What else?”

“Redid your calendar and organized your files. Then I went and saw Malik,” and several of the fans started to spin faster. Desmond apparently had his fingers near one because he jerked back in surprise and looked at his fingers. Altair was momentarily concerned he’d hurt him, but saw no blood.

“Malik huh?” Desmond asked, and cocked his head to the side. “About what time did you go hang out with Malik? What did you do?”

“We intrafaced, and I watched him fight internet trolls. It was really quite amusing,” he said with a slight grin. His synthetic heart glowed brighter as he pulled the day’s memories down from the cloud and let them run on one of his less important drives. “It was around three.”

Desmond looked back at his readouts on the screen, “ _Oh_ ,” he said. He did something with the data, reading it, going between two screens. He frowned, smiled a bit, then frown again before pushing away from his desk and going over to a cardboard box. “Well, your time with Malik has seriously overworked your fans. You broke one.”

“I broke one?” Altair asked and felt nervous.

“Yeah, but its fine, I have a new one,” and he dug around in the box. “This one should be better. I’m going to have to replace them all with these better ones at some point, but I only have one in right now,” he rolled back over to Altair. “Though I guess it makes sense, I replaced your military grade fans with civilian ones and yours can spin at a higher rpm than civilian fans can allow. This is top end stuff right here. Now, don’t be alarmed,” and Altair’s chest went suddenly silent as Desmond clicked on something on the screen. All his fans had stopped spinning.

He waited patiently as Desmond came back over to him. “So, have you noticed anything different with your heart lately?” he asked, taking out a small screw driver.

“I don’t think so,” Altair said.

“Not even around Malik?”

A thought he’d stored locally suddenly popped up, reminding him. “Right. I wanted to ask you.” Desmond cursed and Altair felt him drop a screw into his chest. “Uh…?”

“I got it I got it,” Desmond said. “Wanted to ask me what?”

“My heart glows differently when Malik’s around,” he said.

“Different how?”

“Sometimes the pulse speeds up,” as right now it was going at the normal, acceptable, speed it normally did, comparable to a human heart. Desmond found the screw he’d dropped, fishing it out of the bottom of his chest with a pair of pliers.

“Anything else?” Desmond asked as he screwed his new fan in. He was glad Desmond was almost done, he could feel his core temperature had risen by a degree since he’d turned his fans off.

“Or sometimes it doesn’t pulse at all, it just glows steady,” he said.

Desmond laughed, a joyful sound and he finished putting in Altair’s new face. Then he grabbed Altair by the face, “That means,” he said brightly, “you work!” and he kissed Altair hard, right on the forehead. 

Altair frowned. He didn’t understand what Desmond meant by that. Then Desmond let him go and went to his computer, and there was a click and all of Altair’s fans started spinning gently. He saw his core temperature drop back down to normal. “Fan work okay?”

“It spins faster than I’m used to,” Altair said.

“Ah, right,” Desmond nodded. “Driver’s on the home screen, it should take a few minutes to install.” 

Altair nodded and accessed Desmond’s computer while he asked, “What do you mean I work?”

“Well rather, the love machine works,” he grinned and put his hand on the silver globe that took up the space in his chest where a human heart would be. “Probably cause you have no idea what most emotions feel like yet cause you’re still new at this you don’t know what it is. You’re in love.”

Altair blinked, “I am?” he said, surprised.

“According to the readouts I’m getting, yeah.”

“But I don’t feel any different,” he said.

“When did this start?”

“What?”

“The glowy bit?”

Altair pulled his memory from the cloud and sifted through it with most of his CPU capabilities. Still it took him a few seconds to cycle through weeks worth of data. “The day I got my legs,” Altair said.

“Ah, that would be why. You don’t know any different since you’ve basically always felt like this,” Desmond said, smiling. It took Altair a moment to realize what the look was on Desmond’s face. He was _proud_ of Altair. Proud that Altair had done exactly what he’d been built to test. He’d fallen in love.

“Malik doesn’t have a synthetic heart,” Altair said.

“No, he doesn’t,” Desmond agreed.

“Can he get one?”

“I don’t think so. He’s so full of mods already he might not have room for one.”

“Oh,” Altair said and the pulse of the heart slowed, its bright glow dimmed.

“I’m sorry, Altair.”

“Why?” Altair asked, even as he felt a strange emotion he wasn’t used to, he’d never felt it. He didn’t know what to call it.

Desmond’s mouth went tight a moment, “Nothing,” he said, “What do you feel?”

“I don’t know,” Altair said. Somehow his chest hurt. “My chest feels funny, did you drop another screw in there?”

“No,” Desmond sat in front of him. “Your chest feels funny?”

“Yes. Like it hurts? But I’m operating properly?”

“Yes, you are,” Desmond said. “What else?”

“I feel…” he paused to try and figure it out. “Lost,” he said, but wasn’t quite sure himself.

“Ah. I know what you’re feeling then,” Desmond said.

“What? I don’t know this emotion.”

“Heart break,” Desmond said. “Huh,” he said, “Didn’t expect that. Who thought a robot who could love would fall for one who couldn’t,” he looked thoughtful.

“Is my heart malfunctioning?” Altair asked worriedly.

“No no, its fine. Its doing exactly what its supposed to do when you realize the one you love will never love you back.”

“I don’t like this feeling, Desmond.”

“No one does.”

“Will you make it stop?”

“I can’t,” he said sadly. “Only you can make it stop, Altair.”

“How?”

“I don’t know. Everyone deals with heartbreak their own way. I don’t know how robots deal with theirs.”

“I could delete all my memories about Malik, so I wouldn’t remember. The emotion is keyed to memory isn’t it?”

“You could. But do you want to? Do you want to forget Malik? And you might just do this all over again.”

“Then what _should_ I do?”

“I don’t know,” Desmond said. “Maybe you should tell him. Malik’s a, normally, perfectly reasonable android. Getting closure might help.”

“Okay. I will,” Altair said. “Can I go to sleep now?”

Desmond smiled, sort of amused, sort of sorry for him. “Yeah. Have a nice sleep Altair. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Goodnight Desmond,” and then he ran his sleep function. Everything except his most vital drives shut down, and even those slowed, burning less energy.

—

The next day Altair found Malik making Desmond breakfast. Desmond had replaced his chest plate and gone to get ready for work. Malik was tasting something, putting his finger on his tongue and making a ‘hmm’ noise.

“Good morning,” Altair said.

“Good morning Altair,” Malik said, decided it was adequate, and poured some of the batter into a frying pan.

“Malik, I need to talk to you.”

“Okay. Go ahead,” he turned away from the pancakes he was making. Pancakes were Desmond’s favorites. Malik made them when things happened to Desmond that were good; like his date last night.

“I love you,” Altair said.

Malik looked confused. “You what?”

“I love you.”

“Why?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” he said. Then Malik turned back to the breakfast. “Don’t you care, Malik?” he asked.

“I don’t know what love means, Altair. I know the definition of things. But I don’t feel. I’m not some soft human with emotions.” He didn’t sound upset either. Malik was what he was. He was an android that helped Desmond around the house and at his hospital. He didn’t need or want to love. He was content the way he was, because he knew nothing else, couldn’t know anything else.

Malik’s dismissal of him made his chest hurt again, more than it had last night. His synthetic heart didn’t even glow at all now. “Malik I-

“Hmm?” Malik asked, looking at him.

“Nothing,” he said and sat at the kitchen table, head bowed. He tried to catalog each feeling he was having, but he didn’t even know the names for them. He didn’t know how to even describe to himself what he was feeling other than ‘bad’ and ‘sad’ and ‘heartbroken’.

—

Altair tried to stay away from Malik after that. His rational thought was that the less time he spent with Malik the less he’d care. That, of course, didn’t work. Malik often sought after his company, to talk, and even asked if he wanted to intraface again. Altair always said no, and when Malik came around pretended he was too busy working to pay attention to Malik.

This went on for weeks. Desmond replaced all of his fans but there was no need now. His fans freaked out when he was around Malik, but he’’d been spending less and less time with the other android. His chest still hurt sometimes, and his heart barely glowed. He talked with Desmond every night about it and Desmond decided he was fine, and that Altair just needed to get over it and it’d glow brighter again.

Malik came to try and talk to him again. He was honestly busy, talking to a customer who had questions about their android currently in Desmond’s care. Apparently their child had ripped some of the tubes in their legs making them incapable of walking. It had also leaked most of its coolant during that time and its central body had started to overheat. They just wanted their android back like it was and Altair was doing their best to reassure them Desmond was doing everything he could. Malik just waited by Altair’s desk while he finished the call.

Then he hung up, “Yes?” he asked Malik.

“Would you like to touch my hair?”

Altair started, honestly surprised by it, “What?”

“When we intrafaced, you wanted to touch my hair. Do you still want to?”

Part of him knew it’d make him upset. “Yes,” he said.

Malik went around the counter and sat on the floor so Altair could still see over his desk and touch his hair. Altair ran his fingers through it gently. He had sensors build into his fingers to be able to detect these sorts of things. Desmond said it was because he used to be on a bomb squad, and bomb detonators needed to be able to be touch sensitive. Malik’s hair was soft to the touch. Altair buried in fingers in it and Malik sat their patiently, letting himself be pet. The phone rang but Altair didn’t pick it up. He was too busy with more important things. His chest hurt, but it also started to glow brighter. He didn’t even know what to make of what his heart was doing. His fans kicked in like they hadn’t in weeks. Altair was disappointed in himself. He still loved Malik. But Malik would never love him back.

Still, he could have this. He could be like this with Malik.

“Do you like touching my hair?” Malik asked.

“Yes. Its very soft,” and after hesitating a moment Altair leaned forward and pressed his face into it. The synthetic skin on his face was more sensitive than the rubber and plastic sensors on his fingers. “I love you,” he said. Malik said nothing. Altair wished he would. But Malik couldn’t lie, he couldn’t even lie to make Altair feel better. What a terrible existence that was, to be unable to comfort someone.

They stayed like that until Desmond came looking for Malik. He frowned at them, thoughtful, and then took Malik away. Altair had trouble answering the phone for the rest of the day, distracted by replaying the memory of touching Malik’s hair, and by the pain in his chest.

He stored his memories of Malik in a password protected part of his cloud storage and then deleted his memory of the password. His chest started to pulse at the normal, acceptable, rate, like that of a human heart. When he saw Malik that night on their way home he just smiled at him and when Malik asked if he wanted to touch his hair again his confused ‘no’ was in honest surprise. Nothing had changed and Desmond didn’t ask him any questions that night either.

-fin-

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not even sorry in the slightest.


End file.
